STRESSED!
by falcon-121
Summary: The title says it all.  One of the BAU crew is stressed out!  *one-shot*


**AN: Silly one-shot because I'm bored and am trying to get the writing juices flowing again. No really basis or point to this. Still don't own Criminal Minds. That would cost much more than I'm worth. All mistakes are proudly my own.**

"Where's your stress ball," she asked after barging through the door.

He sighed and tossed it to her. This was the third time this week.

"You could have at least knocked first."

"Who does he think he is," she hissed as she fired the ball at the wall as hard as she could. It ricocheted off and her hand moved to catch it with the speed of a viper's strike. Throw, catch, and repeat. "I swear, if he opens his smartass mouth one more time, I'm going to sock him, Hotch. You hear me? Right in his jaw! Dislocate the damn thing!"

"You aren't completely innocent in all of this, you know?"

She glared at him with an eye that was more transparent than blue at this point. Her grip squeezed the living daylights out of the ball as she contemplated what to say. She decided to go with silence, turning back to the wall and rocketing the ball towards it with velocity that a major league pitcher would be proud of. _Quite the athlete, _Hotch thought. He was perplexed as to why her arm was so strong if she played soccer, though. Five pitches later and she began to pace, still clutching the ball. Step two of the process.

"Done throwing?"

"Yes, unless you want me to chuck this at your face."

"I thought you wanted to break his jaw, not mine?"

"I can break both," she retorted, the glare searing into his eyes. He chuckled.

"I don't see anything funny about this, Hotch."

"No, you wouldn't. I, on the other hand, realize how similar you two are."

"Similar? What the hell did Em lace your coffee with this morning?"

"Nothing. You both are competitive. Part of that has to do with your backgrounds in sports, but then it could be said that your competitiveness fueled your desires to take part in sports in the first place. Competitiveness leads to stubbornness. Neither one of you can stand backing down from a challenge. So you butt heads over tiny disagreements because you both want to one-up the other. It wasn't a problem in the past because you both had a respect for it. It's like two buddies who thrown down after having a few too many at a bar and are then the best of chums after. However, you add increased stress levels, and neither of you end of thinking as clearly as usual. Things get heated. You both get angry. The competitiveness is good. He's arguably the most natural profiler I've ever met. No one manipulates the media better than you. There's a reason behind it. The competitiveness fuels you both to be the best that you can possibly be, which in turn makes you both work like pack mules. I could go on for hours, but do you get the picture?"

She exhaled deeply as she stopped pacing and took a seat in the closest chair. Step three: the cooling down process.

"I suppose. You said the word 'chums.' Have you been reading the Hardy Boys recently or something?"

Another chuckle. "Too quaint for you?"

"Yes," she said with a laugh. "Try archaic. I'd expect for Rossi to pull that one out before you."

Hotch grinned. "He's too busy making s'mores with the conference room microwave to have any chums."

More laughs. "Why hasn't he bought his own microwave for his office yet?"

"Beats me," Hotch replied with a shrug. "So you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be alright," she said, tossing the ball back to him. "Thanks for letting me blow off steam... again."

"Any time. Just knock first next time."

She smirked as she stood to head for the door. "Where's the fun in that?"

Hotch released a faux sigh. "Case to be briefed on in 30?"

"10-4," she said with a salute as she reached for the door.

"Hold it," Hotch shouted with a quizzical look on his face. "Prentiss laced my coffee?"

She donned a wicked smile, but said nothing. Opening the door, she simply whistled as she exited stage right. Hotch shook his head before returning the ball to its proper drawer and watching her trot down the flight of steps. All the profiling experience in the world wouldn't get him any closer to fully understanding the ways of Miss Jennifer Jareau.


End file.
